Post by phrostphyre on Jun 17, 2011 21:33:56 GMT -5
”Ship, Cap’n Alasdair! ‘Tis a fat Gaulish merchant man, headed for Ceunon. I have the lads settin’ the rigging to let us stalk her tae just outside sight of Ceunon, and then we spring the trap, as per yer usual orders.” Alasdair nodded approvingly. He stood in full plaid. Kilt, loose material across a shoulder, pinned with a brooch, and bonnet. His broadsword needed sharpening. He turned and moved to the grindstone with the grace of a shark after prey. His ship groaned and creaked beneath him as she hit a swell, conquered it, then hit a trough. He drew the yard of steel and set it against the stone, then began turning the stone. As his crew passed Alasdair, they nodded respectfully and a pile of swords needing sharpened began growing. There were broadswords, claymores, short swords, anything and everything. Alasdair sharpened them all, enjoying the rasp of steel on oiled stone.
There were few blind spots on a ship, but Alasdair’s first mate knew how to slip the Caítriona into them, so that she could surprise the helpless prey. The ships sailed onwards, salt spraying the faces of the crew as they did so, one oblivious to the presence of the other, the other, eagerly awaiting the right moment to destroy the crew of the one. The hunting ship closed the distance slowly, silently, eagerly. The crew waited, silently, patiently, eagerly. The Captain of the hunting ship finished sharpening the swords, then stood and redrew his own. He lifted it high above his head, waited a moment, and then slashed it forward. Two arrows flew, gauging the distance. Then Alasdair repeated the process, and this time the arrows shredded the sails of the merchant man, stopping it in its tracks. Oars swept out from the sides of the hunting ship, then began to add speed to her. She closed the distance, rammed the aft end, sending the merchant man wheeling, and then with great cries lust and rage, the pirates upon the Caítriona leaped from their ship to the prey. They slashed rigging ropes, they cut throats, and they stabbed bodies. They were thorough, efficient, and deadly. Alasdair sat drinking a glass of red wine as he watched his men, and women, work. There were quite a few women dressed as men and fighting beside their husbands, sweet-hearts, or just to stay on Alasdair’s ship.
Three hours later, the gold in the pay chest was on Alasdair’s ship, the goods in his hold, and various other things had been attended to. Alasdair sat in his cabin, swirling another glass of wine. It took one mutiny, four hangovers, and one week, but the ship made it back to Teirm in one piece.
Alasdair emerged from his cabin, feeling more human than last night. That had been one of his worse hangovers. He placed his bonnet firmly upon his head and walked down the gangplank, trying not to stumble. He headed for one of the nearer taverns, intending to find a place to drink milk or water, to finish the last vestiges of hangover, attempting to beat a hasty retreat to his head for an aching fortress. Alasdair would head it off with sleep, milk, and possibly some beefsteak.
There were few blind spots on a ship, but Alasdair’s first mate knew how to slip the Caítriona into them, so that she could surprise the helpless prey. The ships sailed onwards, salt spraying the faces of the crew as they did so, one oblivious to the presence of the other, the other, eagerly awaiting the right moment to destroy the crew of the one. The hunting ship closed the distance slowly, silently, eagerly. The crew waited, silently, patiently, eagerly. The Captain of the hunting ship finished sharpening the swords, then stood and redrew his own. He lifted it high above his head, waited a moment, and then slashed it forward. Two arrows flew, gauging the distance. Then Alasdair repeated the process, and this time the arrows shredded the sails of the merchant man, stopping it in its tracks. Oars swept out from the sides of the hunting ship, then began to add speed to her. She closed the distance, rammed the aft end, sending the merchant man wheeling, and then with great cries lust and rage, the pirates upon the Caítriona leaped from their ship to the prey. They slashed rigging ropes, they cut throats, and they stabbed bodies. They were thorough, efficient, and deadly. Alasdair sat drinking a glass of red wine as he watched his men, and women, work. There were quite a few women dressed as men and fighting beside their husbands, sweet-hearts, or just to stay on Alasdair’s ship.
Three hours later, the gold in the pay chest was on Alasdair’s ship, the goods in his hold, and various other things had been attended to. Alasdair sat in his cabin, swirling another glass of wine. It took one mutiny, four hangovers, and one week, but the ship made it back to Teirm in one piece.
Alasdair emerged from his cabin, feeling more human than last night. That had been one of his worse hangovers. He placed his bonnet firmly upon his head and walked down the gangplank, trying not to stumble. He headed for one of the nearer taverns, intending to find a place to drink milk or water, to finish the last vestiges of hangover, attempting to beat a hasty retreat to his head for an aching fortress. Alasdair would head it off with sleep, milk, and possibly some beefsteak.
